


Sand under Paws

by Ash_Cassidy97



Category: BRIGGS Patricia - Works, Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Character, Jewish John Silver, M/M, Protective Captain Flint, Werewolves, aftermath of treasure island, john's not kind to himself, not a lot changes though, that werewolf universe you didn't want but happened any what because 2am writing, without reading treasure island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: There are wolves in the world. That’s a simple fact. There are wolves who’ve signed up to be pirates and that’s a whole other host of problems. Nassau alone operates with at least twenty packs in close quarters, so there’s a dead wolf at least every three days from pissing off the wrong thief at 3am. And then there’s Flint. Flint who keeps them safe in a lawless way, gives them control when there’s them all fighting everything around them.Flint who bounded every wolf on his ship to him, tied them to him in unforgettable bounds, except for Silver.Because John Silver has never been wanted by anybody.OR the ongoing angst that is John Silver and Thomas's ongoing war to make all of them talk about their bloody feelings.





	Sand under Paws

“So are we going to talk about this?”

“Talk about what, Silver?” It’s after the storm, after Billy got thrown overboard, after they looted a Spanish warship, after all of it, after everything.

“Talk about how I’m not yours and you’re still acting like I am.”

“I’ve told you this and once again, everything on this ship is  _ mine _ ,” Flint snarls at him.

“No.” John’s wolf is calmly shouting at him to duck, to whine, to hunch over, and act submissive. But he’d be dead a thousand times over if he listened to his wolf. He takes a step forward. “I am not yours.” He growls, flashing teeth.

Flint calmly slams him into the wall, and holds him there by the throat until Silver calms down a little. “You are  _ mine _ . Any other fucking concerns?”

“Nope. Nope. That clears everything up.” Flint releases him and Silver promptly runs for the hills as quickly as he can do that without looking like it.

  
  


There are wolves in the world. That’s a simple fact. There are wolves who’ve signed up to be pirates and that’s a whole other host of problems. Nassau alone operates with at least twenty packs in close quarters, so there’s a dead wolf at least every three days from pissing off the wrong thief at 3am. And then there’s Flint. Flint who keeps them  _ safe _ in a lawless way, gives them control when there’s them all fighting everything around them.

Flint who bounded every wolf on his ship to him, tied them to him in unforgettable bounds, except for Silver.

Because John Silver has never been wanted by anybody.

And he likes it that way. Truly.

He likes it that way enough to stand up in front of the crew three times a day and get beaten into the boards by humans he could snap up. He likes it enough that he forces himself to do it even with Flint watching.

And he gets a cursed ax sunk into his leg because he’s never been not loyal. He’s never managed it.

“Would you like me to clear the room?” Howell asks. He doesn’t seem nervous, seems calm.

“Why would I want you to clear the room?” John’s not catching on well.

“When the shock sets in, you may lose faculties. Some men lose their bowels. I can do it with as few as three or four men.”

“We're not going anywhere,” somebody reassures him, like that’s reassuring.

“I don't want this.”

“If it doesn't come off quickly, you won't make it three days,” Howell tells him, laying out his knives. Even wolves can’t walk on broken legs, can’t shift right, and even if they live, the need to run will drive ‘em mad, as Howell and every other person in the room knows, even John, perhaps, especially John.

“Did you not fucking hear me?! I said I do not want this!”

Howell cuts anyway.

John unfortunately has a very good pain tolerance and doesn’t pass out until the fourth swing. 

He wakes to Flint touching him carefully. “Steady.” He flinches and tries to reel back. “Steady,” the alpha repeats, but he’s a wolf injured in front of nonpack. He damn well knows better than to let Flint touch him. So he snarls and fights back, growling because he almost passes out again from the pain. “Steady,” Flint says for what will hopefully be the last time.

“How are the men?” he snarls, sitting up, making sure his leg is covered. It’s fine. He’s a creature that runs on four paws and fucking  _ can’t _ .

“You’re the new Quartermaster.”

Grand. It’s not the other three quartermasters before were murdered or anything. It’s not like Flint won’t happily gut him at the next available oppertunitity. Yeah, this is going to go well. Flint’s still looking at him.

“Okay.”

“Act surprised when they tell you.”

“Why am I in your cabin?”

“Howell and the others had a rough time holding you down.” And Flint’s an alpha. However much they pretend otherwise, in order to keep everything stable, Flint could make him dance across the plank.

It does not help with the panic.

Silver nods to that. It’s fine. It’s completely fine that his wolf, when injured and terrified, didn’t try to murder Flint  _ like he should’ve _ . It’s fine.

“How are you feeling?” Flint asks.

And fuck that shit about wolves not being able to lie to other wolves because John’s been doing it for twenty years. “Good.”

“Bullshit.” Except to Flint. Because fuck John, that’s why.

“I’m good, Flint. Back off.” He manages to sit up, bracing himself against the wall. The pain rips through him like a tidal wave. He comes to with Flint holding him. John can’t help but snarl at him and fight to get away, wacking the remains of his leg against the bedpost and-

He wakes to Flint peering at him.

“What happened?”

“You lost consciousness. Howell’s looking at your leg again.”

“What?” John fights him, trying to look but-

“Down. It’s all right. It’s all right.” Flint keeps him from looking. It’s dark out, he knows that much. And whatever Howell is doing hurts like a motherfucker. He manages to break Flint’s nose when Howell  _ twists something _ . “Fuck. Goddamn.  _ Stop. That _ .” Flint doesn’t let go to wipe the blood away from his face, so it drips onto his chest. “Easy. All that happened is that he needs to fix your stitches. It’s fine. Calm.”

He keeps shaking, breathing through his nose, and his wolf’s panicking that he  _ fucking broke an alpha’s nose _ . Father Cain would be ashamed of him, of hurting somebody else. Which, fair. Completely fair, but-

“It’s all right, Silver.” They let him go and he’s scrunched as far away from Flint as he can get.

“You think you’re helping?” he hears Howell ask Flint.

“You know it’s this or we try to strap him down.”

“It might be better than this.”

Flint shakes his head. “He’d fight it. Thanks for the stitches.”

Howell sighs. “He’s-he’s going to be in pain for a while. Just . . . make sure he keeps an eye on the wound.” The doctor leaves.

John’s sitting up in the bed again, keeping his leg covered. Flint lets it go. Miranda’s dead. He quickly snaps his nose back into place. “The cook, the actual can cook cook, left some oatmeal next to you.”

Eventually, John manages to sneak away back to his hammock below. He grumbles at Billy and the others, and largely everything goes back to normal. The fake leg even works out okay. It hurts but it doesn’t-it’s fine.

He’s fine.

Flint does his best to leave him alone, which is very little since John’s main job is to challenge the Captain. That’s why dominants get appointed to the position, that’s why Flint doesn’t push John about the leg, about spending moon nights on the beach. That’s why they don’t bring up the days he spent in Flint’s cabin.

Being a wolf is about managing stress and pain and people trying to murder you everyday.

Flint is enough to drive anybody’s blood pressure up let alone a wolf, let alone John. It doesn’t fucking help that he’s helpless in front of an alpha and a pack, not that they’d attack him, but it drives his blood up even more.

The storm. The shark.

The only reason none of them go mad from hunger is because they already are the second they stepped on Flint’s decks. None of them lose to the wolf they have inside. None of them back down. John doesn’t remember much after they get the shark onboard. He remembers shifting to wolf, to better digest the meat. He remembers leaning against Flint in a rare show of affection.

They have fought. They have survived.

Today will not be the day the ship claims them. Today will not be the day they kill each other. Maybe it has to be enough.

So Madi.

Madi, who’s beautiful and already looking for them to fight her authority in the Maroon Pack. She’s just . . . she’s the most beautiful creature John’s ever seen with her dark skin and fur. So he watches warily as she and Flint circle each other on the ship.

He’s not sure who’d win the fight, but he knows more than enough about losing to not want it to happen.

They’re two alphas, and that has never boded well before for John. But Flint. Flint is far too used to knowing what it means to be undervalued to do the same to a black woman, a woman who would slit his throat, and feel no remorse from it. He feels no small amount of respect for that, grudging though it may be at times. They give each other wary respect and put no small amount of effort into not killing each other in such close quarters.

“You’re in-” Madi starts.

“I’m not. I don’t love him. I love you.” It’s an old argument.

They’re tucked up in the quartermaster’s quarters. Usually, John sleeps with the men, because as much as he hates to admit it, he’s pack. But not. A pack wolf can’t be Quartermaster, can’t allow the captain to have that much hold over them. 

Madi stretches casually against him. He whines in protest at the movement. She smirks. “You’re in love with him. It’s possible to be in love with two people at once.”

“I’m-”

“I’m not him. I’m not going to use it against you or pick a fight with you over it, but you are in love with him, and one day he might try to break you over it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he might.” He sighs.

John knows how the world will turn, has known it for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t, love, his love, will always be a weakness.

He will break over it on an island. He grits his teeth and does his best to kill his love, to kill his alpha, to kill pack. And there’s a fucking word for what he is: blackguard, damned, forsworn. He should be numb to feeling this, but it hurts all over again.

So he ships Flint off to Thomas, off to a sweet wolf who’s never done anybody any wrong, better than John. He doesn’t-

Madi finds him.

She’ll never forgive him of it.

She understands it though. John’s . . . well, he’s nice but she’s not in love with him. She lost that when they lost the war, so she snarls at him until he walks away, because he’s a good man. He’s far too good a man for this world, and she is not what he needs. So she sets him free, hoping against all reason given that he will go where he needs to go.

So he finds the treasure again, finds a box of it on that island. He steals enough of it and tracks down Thomas. He can’t- he won’t- he doesn’t think of it as tracking down Flint. He won’t give himself what he doesn’t deserve. But he knows damn well enough that he owes Thomas, owes him for being able to give Flint what he won’t, what he can’t.

“I-uh-I’m an old friend of Captain McGraw,” he says, letting the name fall off his lips, even though it feels like a vampire trying to say “God”. “This, this box, rightfully belongs to him. And now to you.”

“And your name is?”

“Jimmy Moon.”

“Moon? Really? That is your desired nom de pomm?” John’s face tightens because of course Thomas can tell he’s a werewolf. He’d expect nothing less. “Well, James will be back in an hour or so-” John knows that. “You might as well stay and -”

“I cannot, I’m afraid.” It’s not a lie. “I have affairs to attend to. Good day,” he adds as he scurries away on his fake leg. He won’t-he won’t wear the crutch, can’t bring himself to admit weakness to Thomas, even as he knows Thomas belongs to Flint and therefore should be safe. But they are wolves first in all things.

John remembers the bite. Not many do. Wolves in Spain pillaged before the Great Purge. It was after the Explosion of the Church. But he was changed by a rogue wolf during Hanukkah. It felt like God was laughing at him on that day, forsworning him for liking men or being Jewish or- the point being that he remembers it clearly, remembers how it felt to have a creature  _ ripping _ into his skin, shredding it like paper.

That’s how it feels to see Flint again.

Like he’s forsworn by God. Again.

Like he’s stepped onto holy ground and been recast out by the Grace of God.

The irony of it is that Flint isn’t angry. He doesn’t smell it at least, and Flint’s anger smells like blood, like the scent of his anger already knows what the most likely outcome will be. John remembers what Flint looked like as a wolf for the first time, red all over with the same sea-colored eyes, stalking across the ship like a creature of the damned.

He doesn’t look like that now, even on two legs.

He looks  _ good _ , like he’s finally healed from the past ten years at sea.

John steals himself for what’s to come, which will surely be murder. He resolves himself to his death. He was nearly the cause of Flint’s death too many times to allow it to pass. He and his wolf are of the same mind on this.

“You found Thomas again,” Flint says dryly, parking himself on John’s skiff of a boat. It’s barely large enough to cross open water, but it only takes one to captain it. John keeps up the process of casting off, hoping to God that Flint, for once in his life, will take a hint.

“I did,” he says at last, once it becomes more apparent that Flint will have his say.

“He was irritated that you wouldn’t stay for supper, sent me after you even.”

“Is that so?” John asks, and while it may be true, the both of them damn well know that Flint only does what he wants to do. “Are you here to tie me up in ropes and haul me back for dinner?”

“Hmm. That seems to be about the gist of it. Thomas won’t let me have desert otherwise.” Flint sighs mournfully, “And you know how I like desert.”

“Am I to be a guest or the entre?”

“A guest, I’m sure.” John’s careful to keep his gaze away from Flint, not even looking up at him, still pretending to be busy with the rope.

“It is better if I leave. I’m sorry for disturbing Thomas and you with memories of things best forgotten.”

“Not all things deserve to be forgotten.”

“Don’t they?” John finally looks up at Flint. He sighs. “But they must. You know this as well as I. No good will come of me sitting down at your table for supper.”

“We have been through too much for you to merely steal away in the night like some childhood villain. You, at the very least, owe Thomas and I an explanation.” Flint tosses the anchor back over the side of the ship, along with the other as well. 

And without further argument, somehow John rolls back up the sails and knots back up the ropes. And somehow, without further argument, finds himself sat across from Thomas at a scrubbed table. Flint sits at the head for the small table, for all the trappings of a common fisherman, he looks like a king sat there just so.

John has spent far too long following Flint, yearning to follow him, to be able to refuse now.

John eats carefully. He fasted during the day, and he won’t allow himself to spoil himself on food from those that seem to not have much. Flint eyes his small portions with a dark eyes. Thomas braces a hidden hand on James’ knee. He’s always been the more patient of them. And the wayward sailor looks a strong wind away from falling over.

Wolves eat or they go mad.

Thomas can smell his hunger and fear that’s worn into him like he’s never not been hungry and scared a day in his life. He smell his stubbornness as well. James is much too used to simply pressing his will on those he considers his for their own good to consider that John would leave burn marks in fleeing. That may be unfair to James, but Thomas knows he’s too worried to think straight.

“So you fish now?” John asks, clearly searching for anything to break the silence.

“I do,” James agrees. He grips Thomas’ hand back, moving their hands to the table. “And Thomas teaches at the University. He’s very good,” James brags.

“It’s merely French.”

“J'adore le français,” John says, sitting forward a little more. “Quel est votre morceau de littérature française préféré?”

“ _ Don Quixote de la Mancha _ , which may be cheating since it’s originally in Spanish, but it remains one of my favorite translations thus far.” Thomas turns to faux-glare at James, “You didn’t mention he can hold a conversation.”

“I didn’t know he was fluent in French.”

John shrugs. “I’m not. It’s just very similar to-to English,” he proclaims like he wasn’t about to say something else. Flint leans in, but Thomas squeezes his fingers very tightly.

“Oh, well, in that case, have you read  _ Don Quixote _ in English?”

“No, but I got the gist. Tilting at windmills, sound familiar, Flint?”

“Very,” James says, eyeing Thomas lovingly. He looks at the lamp, burning low. “It’s almost ten at night. Come, I’ll make up the cot for you.”

“Oh, I’ll do the washing up,” John protests, lurching to his foot to get the plates and cutlery, only to have them whipped out of his hands by Thomas.

“Nonsense, you’re a guest in this house.” Summarily dismissed, John finds him helping Flint lay out sheets on a wooden cot.

“I thought . . . I thought you wanted an explanation.”

“That can wait for the morning.” Flint lays a hand on his shoulder. “Rest. It is far too late for dark thoughts and Thomas makes good pancakes.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” John mumbles. He shouldn’t. He, if he has half of his sanity left, should be on his ship, back to . . . somewhere.

“Silver,” Flint says, letting the weight of his alphaness fall in the room, making John look up, “Do I need to tie you to me so that you’ll still be here in the morning?” He doesn’t mean it unkindly, not really, but he means it fully that he will tie the other man down if that’s what it takes.

“No. I’ll-I’ll still be here.”

“Rest.” James lets it go and leaves the other to get settled in for the night.

“Do you think he’ll stay?” Thomas asks as they lay in their bed, his voice but a whisper. James shrugs.

“He’s still here,” is what he lands on to say.

John’s still there in the morning, bleary-eyed and slumped over the table. Even Thomas can read the pain in every line of his body. Thomas looks at James in askance. James shakes his head and puts the pot on, and gets out the willow bark tea that he uses when his back aches in the winter. Thomas starts the promised pancakes.

James pours him the tea and glares at him until he drinks it. John winces at the taste. The pancakes get laid out as Thomas talks about what he plans to teach his students today. John keeps silent, barely finishing his tea. He eats a single pancake until Thomas offers him the plate again, forcing another upon him.

“You’re helping me on the boat today.”

“What?” Flint raises his eyebrows. “Right. Fine. Anything else,  _ Captain _ ?” he asks, biting off the last word.

“No.” James pours tea into a jug. “Come, we should be off before sunrise.” He packs lunch for them both, and kisses Thomas carefully. “See you tonight.”

“Hmm. Don’t kill each other. Bring back enough fish to eat.”

He lets John pick the pace down to the sea. Flint flings the nets out. They sit in the fishing boat, waiting for the nets to fill. Once they are filled, they go to market, to sell what they’ve caught. They manage to do this in perfect silence, the years of working together without needing to speak coming back slowly like the sea coming in.

James does it because for all John’s need to talk, his wolf is quiet shy creature who was outcasted by pack, which leaves the creature nervous and under-socialized at the best of times. James is well aware of the irony of him thinking that, but well . . . like calls to like.

“Good day?” Thomas will ask them as they stomp back.

James kisses him fiercely and breaks to say, “We got vegetables for dinner.”

“Oh, that good?”

“Hmm. I’m cooking!” James says hastily, blocking John’s walk to the kitchen. “I’ve spent four long years of your cooking. Never again.”

“That bad?” Thomas asks, smiling.

“He dared to call himself a ‘cook’. Hah! I’ve never seen a cook manage to undercook and overcook a pig at the same time.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” John protests, but he sits down at the table, across from Thomas who goes back to grading papers. “You never complained about the shark.”

“Hah! Takes us dying from starvation for me to like your cooking.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” John repeats, catching Thomas’s look. “Slight starvation,” he add utterly unhelpfully. “Nobody died.”

“Will did.”

“But Will was a piece of shit. At best.” Thomas catches James’ eyes and flicks them at Silver, silently asking if that’s why Silver wasn’t eating. James shakes his head. No. It was something else. The man had taken his half of the lunch and given it away to a street corner kid, slipping it to the kid like James wasn’t wise to such tricks.

“So what happened?” Thomas asks. “What happened to have you turning up on our doorstep with gold?”

“I uh I saw Billy again. We found the island. We found the gold. There was a kid involved, who just wanted to have a spot of fun. Anyway, Madi . . . .” John takes a deep breath and starts that sentence over again. “I figured the gold belongs to you more ‘an I, so here I am,” he finishes lamely.

“Hmm. You’re staying here until you recover a bit,” James says, not allowing room for argument. He means it too. Thomas would kill him if he let Silver walk out of here in Silver’s current state.

“I don’t-you don’t have to do that.”

“We like having company,” Thomas says firmly. He also sits a cup of willow bark tea at John’s hand with a Look. James dishes out the food, not letting John control his portions. It’s twice as much as John wants and about half of what his wolf wants.

He tries to mix it around his plate so the others don’t notice. It works until Flint catches his eye. “Eat,” the other wolf tells him. And finally, finally, John does.

Much, much later, James wakes to the sounds of John being violently ill. Thomas stirs next to him, but James ignores him for the moment in order to reach John quickly. He rests a hand on John’s back and one on his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. John produces a wolf-whine, whistling it between his teeth. “It’s all right. At least you got to a bucket. Shhh,” he adds. Thomas is up and moving around, bustling with the kettle. “Ate too much at dinner, huh? It’s all right.” John shakes his head at that. James pauses. But goes back to rubbing John’s back, thinking. Eventually John stops puking.

“I made some tea to help with your throat,” Thomas says. “Swish that around and spit,” he says, handing John a glass of water. “The tea’s on the counter. I’m going back to bed,” he decides. Wolves are private creatures and John’s no exception to that.

James guides John to the cot. “Steady,” he says again. John really hates that word. “Easy,” he adds, and fumbling he bumps John’s bad leg. James stops. Then starts again, feeling John’s iron foot in anger. “You’re-you’ve been sleeping with it on?!”

“Just-just for the past few nights.” John forces himself further away from Flint. The wolf yells at him, howling at him to press closer to safety and-

“How long, John?”

And John wasn’t prepared for his first name to fall so easily off Flint’s lips. “I don’t-” he stops short at Flint’s look, even in the dim room, it packs a punch. “A month. Since, since I left Madi.”

James closes his eyes at that. Since John’s left what little pack he has left. Fuck. No goddamn wonder he came here, pressing gold into Thomas’s hands like he thought he needed to buy entrance.  _ Fuck _ . “Drink that,” he orders, handing the tea to John, and stooping to look at John’s leg.

It’s not actively bleeding, but that’s the best that could be said for it. The stump is wrinkled looking from sweat and water, and red. It’s swollen beyond words. And damn them all for not saying anything. John’s glaring at him, but keeps drinking the tea peacefully enough.

James carefully, going at fast as he can, unbuckles the peg. John hisses between his teeth, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. James, using a kitchen chair, balances the leg on top of a kitchen cabinet.

“Hang on!”

“No. You’ll get it back when your stump doesn’t look like that.” He breaks out salve and bandages the stump up, padding it because John’s sure to knock it about in the morning. “And you’re staying in our bed. Come on.” Flint takes the cup of tea with him and hefts John into his bedroom. Thomas snores almost convincingly, like he wasn’t eavesdropping for the past thirty minutes.

“I can’t-you’re-”

“Budge up, Thomas,” James says. Thomas rolls over, giving James enough space to neatly flip John into the bed, and tuck him in before getting in himself. Effectively, they’re pinning John into bed.

John tenses, becoming like a lump. James ignores that in favor of stretching out over him, letting the weight of his body pin John in place. Ideally, they should be doing this as wolves, but John shouldn’t be shifting with that leg the way it is. Slowly, very slowly, before James is fully asleep, he feels John relax into their enforced cuddling session.

Thomas wakes to John kneeling over him with a crazed look in his eyes. Well, Thomas thinks, it makes sense that John would attempt to climb out of bed on Thomas’s side, thinking, somewhat mistakenly, that Flint is a light sleeper. James don’t wake, except for emergencies and coffee, and even then it takes some conjoling.

“Hmm?” Thomas asks, resting a hand on John’s good hip. It’s then that Thomas remembers he’s shirtless and this could look risque if James was to wake. Well, Thomas thinks, it might be the correct thought.

“Need to take a piss.” It’s not a lie, but it’s close. Thomas reluctantly takes his hand off John’s hip. James, possessing the wisdom of John’s stupidity from four years of knowledge, had placed a crutch on Thomas’s side of the bed that John grudgingly takes up. John does his business and doesn’t come back to bed.

“You gonna take care of that?” he asks James, nudging him. James snores almost convincingly. Thomas glares at him and gets out of the bed. He finds John leaning against the kitchen sink, staring out at the sea. He looks like he already has one foot out the door. “You coming back to bed?”

“I shouldn’t. I can’t.” He won’t look at Thomas until Thomas touches his shoulder. John just  _ looks  _ at him.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s all right.” Thomas carefully brings him into a hug, squeezing John tightly, holding the back of the other man’s head as John sinks his face into Thomas’s shoulder “It’s all right. Come on.” He steers John right back into the bed.

James flicks the covers back over the two of them.

When they actually wake up, James cooks. He looks at John over the table. “You’re going to see the doc today.”

“What?”

“Yup.”

“No.” Thomas wisely stays out of their argument and eats as many waffles as he can in case they start fighting over the table.

“You’re in pain, your muscles are clenching. You’re going. We’ll take the cart,” James tells Thomas. Thomas nods. He likes walking in the morning.

John’s on the cart without much argument, which tells the other two men all they need to know. “Should’ve woken the doctor last night,” James mutters, kissing Thomas on the cheek.

“It’ll be fine. You couldn't have known.”

John tense at the doctor’s waiting room. James eventually rests a hand on his shoulder. Wolves don’t do well around medicine. They certainly don’t do well with probing. It doesn’t help that the whole room smells like sick and dying. John’s a nervous wreck by the time the doctor calls his name.

“Easy,” James murmurs, guiding John into the exam room. “Steady.” John gets on the table, eyeing the doc with distrust.

“Your leg’s troubling you?” Doctor Sam asks. He’s a good man, James knows that. Thomas . . . the truth is that neither of them had been good after escaping from the plan. He reminds himself firmly of that fact to keep from bristling to defend what really can be considered his injured packmate from another wolf.

John nods shortly. “Okay. Roll your pant leg up for me,” Sam says, keeping a weathered eye on James. John does as he asked, after a look from Flint. “You taped it up last night?” James nods. Sam starts unraveling the bandages. “You were right to come in. It looks pretty inflamed. All right,” Sam says after a pause. “I’m going to numb your leg up.” John snarls at that, but James clamps hands on his shoulder. The shot goes in. “That’s it. Nice and easy. Okay. I’m going to inject your knee with cortisone.” The other shot goes in. John shakes but let’s it. “Good man.”

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” James asks, still leaning to keep on John’s shoulders to keep him still.

“Probably what you already told him.” Sam waits for John to look at him. “Rest. Lots of it. No using the peg.” John starts to ask but, “I can smell the blood and leather on your wound. No peg. Keep an eye out on muscle cramps.”

“Will do,” John mutters.

“James, can I have a word?” Sam asks.

“Uh, yeah. What about?”

“Hmm. Fishing.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I’ll go wait out in the hall,” John says, leaving them to clearly talk about  _ fishing _ .

“Well?” James asks.

“Fishing going well?”

“You know it is. What’s this about?”

“He’s starving.”

“I know.”

“Somebody abused him, probably a wolf.”

“I know that too.” James sighs at Sam. “We served on the same ship. He won’t, he won’t let himself  _ be _ pack, Sam.”

Sam looks at James. He’s older than James by a lot. They both know it. They have to be careful, being in this small of a space. “Be patient with him.” He grins suddenly. “You sick your mate on him?”

James laughs. “You know Thomas.”

“It’s funny how everybody thinks you’re the dangerous one.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that,” James snarks back, opening the door.

“Have a good one,” Sam tells them.

“You done talking about me?” John growls.

“Yes. Day’s not over. We should still try to get some fish and sell something today.”

“What about rest and recovery?” John asks.

“No better place than a nice, rocking boat. Come on.” They spend another day on the boat and then selling fish in the market. As much as James gives vocal tough love, he’s careful in steering the boat and makes John responsible for killing the fish, a far less laborious task.

Thomas watches them come back home, as James guides the horse well enough. It’s a lend from their neighbors. Thomas takes the horse from them as James starts helping John into the house. Sam was right. If John was in full health, he wouldn’t even have these injuries to begin with.

“So?” Thomas asks, coming in after bedding the horse down.

“The doc gave me a few shots to bring the swelling down.”

“Okay. There’s soup on.” James leans against Thomas in thanks.

John’s quieter. Dinner comes and goes. Thomas serves John, pushing his proportions as much as Thomas can get away with. John gives him a look, but is wise enough not to say anything. James’ mate is a scary motherfucker, James is proud to say. John also stupidly tries to go back to sleeping on the cot.

“No, sir,” Thomas says, catching him by the shoulder, and redirecting him towards the bedroom. “Let’s go. You’re sleeping on an actual mattress. Get some sleep. I need to have a word with James.”

“About me?” John asks, but he goes nonetheless.

“Well, what sage advice did Sam give?”

“That John needs pack and stability.”

“So nothing we didn’t already know.”

“Yeah.” Thomas tucks his head against James’ chest. “He’s going to be all right.”

“Hmm. Full moon tomorrow.”

“When it rains, it pours,” Thomas notes. He sighs. “Got an idea on how you wanna handle that?”

“I’ve learned that plans never go the way you want them to with John. Best we can do is get some sleep.”

“Okay.”

They, in turn, get into bed around John, putting him in the middle. Both James and Thomas undress to their smallclothes.

“Wha-?”

“Hush, unless you want plain oatmeal tomorrow.”

“Be worse if you threatened him with fried fish,” James notes.

“You like the fish,” James protests.

Eventually John falls asleep to their bickering.

Another day goes by. Come evening, they’re all curled up on the floor, watching the fire crackle. John is the last to change, with Thomas being the first. Thomas is a blondish wolf, small, and gangly looking almost. Flint has lost some of his bulk, lost some of his muscle.

John looks like a starved mutt, even more so than he did however many years ago it’s been. He’s shivering as well.

Thomas inches towards him, nuzzling at his shoulder. John flinches away, ducking his head. James stares at him. Jesus. James carefully nudges him up and leads the way outside. They run along the beach, sand dancing under their paws. It’s almost Christmas. The loss of a leg doesn’t slow John down at all.

Eventually, after hours of playing, the wolves curl up in the living room with the bedded fire. John hesitates again until James nudges him with his nose and guides him until he’s settles next to Thomas. James curles up on the other side of John.

John wakes up, still curled up next to Thomas. James is back on two legs, making stew. John carefully slipes away from Thomas. Thomas grumbles but doesn’t wake up. John moves to stand next to James. James glances down at him.

“We going to talk about it?” James asks the wolf. John blinks at him, happy to not be able to answer him. “You’re not eating. You’re barely sleeping. Something has to give.” John slumps, laying down on Flint’s feet. James raises his eyebrows. “John, shift.” And unable to resist the call of an alpha, his alpha. He changes. James lets the stew simmer and hands him a pair of pants. “I have half a mind to make you pack.”

“For the last time, I do  _ not _ belong to  _ you _ .”

Flint growls at him. “Then why the fuck show up here?”

“I came to return the gold. You’re the one who hunted me down and-”

“And what? You wanna leave, Silver. There’s the door.”

“All right,” Thomas interrupts, not wearing pants. “Enough.  _ Enough _ ,” he snarls. He crosses the room in a second and kisses James reverently on the lips. He turns on his heel, leaving James stumbling in his wake, to do the same to John.

John is a stone for the first two seconds, but since he can’t hear James drawing iron, he relaxes slightly. Thomas breaks the kiss. “Now, the both of you  _ belong _ to  _ me. _ Just so we’re very fucking clear.”

James didn’t even think of snarling back. His wolf settled down immediately.

“Wha-?” John started to say, even as James’ eyes darkened with arousal.

James growled low in his throat at Thomas. Thomas’s eyes flashed yellow. They could all smell how smug he is. John tried to take a step back, leaning on the counter, but James took a few step forwards to catch his shoulder. He’s not letting his go anywhere.

“It’s like that, is it?” James asked Thomas, making sure to keep a hold on John to prevent him from running. Thomas nodded. “All right, then.”

“Now, John, I’m looking at your leg while James finishes the soup.”

“It’s fine,” John protests, but James releases his hold on the man so that Thomas can replace it.

“Easy,” Thomas mumbles, but haules his towards the bed. “I want you laying down for this part.” Without John realizing how, he finds himself in the bed sans pants again. John whips the blanket over himself. Thomas rolls his eyes. He sits down on the bed, pulling John’s bad leg into his lap.

John sits up and glares at Thomas, trying to pull back, but Thomas has a tight grip just above his knee. “I told you, it’s fine.”

“And it would’ve been if you hadn’t fought the change as much as you did, and I know you jostled it when James pushed you into the water. So just, calm.” Thomas’s hands stroke down the knee, testing the joint. John hisses and loses a few moments of time. “James,” Thomas hisses through his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” James yells back, turning the stove off. John tries to thrash up again.

“No, no, just lay down. That’s it, that’s it.” John lays down because well . . . it’s Thomas . . . and Thomas could beat him into the ground if he wanted to. “Dislocated knee.”

“Fuck,” James says, taking in the sight of the swollen leg. “How?”

“He fought the change.” Thomas looks at him, taking in how bad the knee is. “Dr. Sam?”

“Probably won’t be necessary. Here, get behind him.” John tries to sit up again. “ _ Down _ .” He lays back down. “Easy, Silver. Easy.” James nods to Thomas. Thomas puts him in a hold. “It’s all right, John, just going to pop your knee back into place in 3-2-” James jerks the knee back into place.  _ Snap! _ John passes out.

“That’s it?” Thomas asks.

“Yeah. You’re right. He popped it during the change last night and fucking didn’t say anything.” James sighs. “I forced him to change this morning and that-”

“It was the best option. You know that. He was going to run this morning.”

“Other topic of concern, you tried to start a polysexual relationship this morning. What was up with that?”

“Hmm. You’ve been eyefucking him this full week.” James raises an eyebrow. “Besides, I like him. He could do with more people caring about him.”

“And you’ve always had a thing for the shy ones.”

“There is that.”

“Hmm. I’ll put the coffee on. Can you strap that up?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, hon.” James turns to stand up. “I love you, you know?”

“Yeah. Love you too.”

John wakes to Flint looking grumpy at him. “Doc’s coming by later today. Until then, you’re staying here.”

“Excuse me. I seem to be a little bit lost, but it seems like your mate tried to have sex with me yesterday.”

“Hmm. Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“And you’re not here to kill me?”

“Well, Thomas is better than I deserve.” James sits on the edge of the bed, peeling back the blanket to check the knee. It’s less swollen at least. James runs a hand along the straps on the leg. Thomas had strapped two long boards down the leg, lashing it so John can’t bend or twist it too much. “And he likes you. I like you.”

“So I’m just a quick fuck?”

“No.” James reaches out and holds John’s hand. “You are the farthest thing from a quick fuck.”

“James has too much a heart to waste it all on one man. Besides, it looks like you could do with some love, John,” Thomas says, coming into the room.

Sam comes by pretty soon after that. “You put the knee back?” he asks James. The man nods. “All right, let’s take a look.” John hisses at the brace is undone. “All right, all right.” Sam smacks his lips at the sight. “Thomas, James, you mind giving me some privacy with my patient?” They glare at him, but leave.

“Thanks,” John murmurs.

“Yeah. It’s all right.” The doctor carefully runs his hands along the knee. “It doesn’t look infected or septic.” John grimaces with the pain. “I don’t want you to take anything stronger than tea for the pain. Now say it with me, John, I am going to rest.” John repeats the line. “All right, I’ll be back in three days. Get some rest,” Sam says, patting John on the shoulder.

He leaves the room, only to run immediately into two dominant males, ready to go for the throat. “How is he?” James asks.

“He’s fine. Needs rest. Relaxation. No strenuous exercise,” Sam jokes.

“He’s fine?”

“Yeah. The moon exacerbated his leg, but he’s going to be fine. Keep him quiet, as much as you can for the next three days. It’s really not that bad, I promise you.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Thomas says, shaking his hand.

“Hmm.”

“How’s your da?” Thomas asks, watching James stalk into the bedroom.

“Still exploring the New World.” Sam snorted. “God knows why. It’s not like he’s going to live there permanently.”

“Hmm. We’ll see you in three days.” Thomas shows Sam out, and finds James snuggled up on John’s good side. Thomas sighs, and sits down in a chair and prop his feet up on the mattress. He breaks out a book of poetry.

“Wait, so we’re really not going to have sex now?” John asks, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Hell, no. You’re still hurting from the doc,” James mumbles, falling back asleep. He’d missed having a fishing partner that day, and was exhausted.

Eventually, they have sex.

It’s not . . . it’s not the  _ worst _ .

“I’m really really sorry!” Thomas yelps, trying to look at James’ black eye.

“Hush, it’s not that bad,” James tells him, trying to keep Thomas from seeing. John does his part in this by guiding Thomas back, while bumping James’ hand away so John can look. It’s pretty bad. It looks like somebody hit James with a staff, not that Thomas elbowed him in the face. The bruise is already fading.

It’s a mess. It’s a comedic tragedy.

It gets better the second time around, once John talks Thomas out of guilt.

John still doesn’t eat enough and James still snarls at him sometimes.

“Do you do anything for Hanukkah?” Thomas asks idly, attempting to slip it into conversation when John is tired from sex and they’re all relaxed. Only James tapping Thomas’s leg signals how much James knows this question does not lead anywhere good.

“I’m not a Jew.”

“Huh. Guess that lack of foreskin is decoration.”

“How-”

“I’ve had sex with you,” Thomas says plainly, ignoring James’s increased tapping. Thomas keeps himself wrapped around John. His front to John’s back. They’re all curled up, entangled in each other. “I’ve seen your dick.”

“I- . . . I’m not Jewish.” If they weren’t wolves, maybe they wouldn’t smell the lie. Maybe. Thomas kisses the back of John’s neck, trying to press himself closer, trying to press his love in. The man’s shaking, quivering in place. “I’m not- I’m not Jewish,” he repeats.

“All right,” Thomas says smoothly. “All right. No need to . . . you don’t need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” John protests, but he sinks back into the mattress.

“All right,” Thomas humors, for all intents and purposes, seeming to let the matter lay.

He buys John a menorah two weeks later. He sets it on the mantle and John glares at it when he and Flint come home. He tries to talk Thomas into getting rid of it, but Thomas ignores him. James doesn’t even try to add his two cents, well accustomed to Thomas’s ideas.

“Say the prayer for the first day.”

“I don’t-”

“Yeah you do.”

John lights the first candle. Slowly, stuttering, John says the first blessing. He says the others, feeling the weight of the safety promised in James and Thomas’s gaze. 

“ _ Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam asher kidishanu b'mitz'votav v'tzivanu l'had'lik neir shel Chanukah. Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam she'asah nisim la'avoteinu bayamim haheim baziman hazeh. Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh. _ ”

James and Thomas say “Amen” in the right places at a gesture from John. He lights the rest of the candles. They sit quietly around the table, watching the candles burn out. John touches Thomas’s cheek. “Thank you,” he said, trying to give those words the weight they should carry. Thomas catches his hand and draws him into a hug.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the edges get worn away from all of them. Slowly, John relaxes into them, like coming home. James will wake up one morning, quivering, ready for an attack, only to fall back asleep when he sees his mates safe and at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite movies of all time is The Man from La Mancha, which is a sorta biographic movie about the author in which he writes Don Quixote to convince his cellmates that he is worth saving. It’s a comedic tragedy that defends why people should have hope.
> 
> Me: I’m not sure if I got time for John to deal with all his issues with God.
> 
> Thomas: Hold my beer.
> 
> If the Hebrew is wrong, let me know.


End file.
